


You're Like 60, Why Do I want You So Bad (or: Another Teacher/Student Fantasy)

by orphan_account



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting slapped in the face by Fletcher made more than Andrew's cheeks burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1,2,3,4

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be 3 chapters! Each one grosser than the last. Goodluck

"1, 2, 3, 4"  
Nieman felt the first sting of Fletcher's slap on his face. He was shocked, and it slowed him down. The man in front of him just. Slapped him.  
"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR"  
The slap was harder this time. It took a second for Nieman's brain to catch up. He continued to play.  
1,2,3,4  
The younger man gasped, his cheek was beginning to sting, he knew his face was growing red. He hoped it stayed red for weeks.  
1,2,3,4  
Slap.  
1,2,3,4  
Beads of sweat rolling down his brow, the slaps becoming faster, telling him to GO FASTER. His breath hitched as he tried to play rapidly. His hands started to shake.  
1,2,3,4  
Fletcher was yelling. He slaps him as hard as he could and it makes the younger man's head turn with it. His head is spinning as he looks back and continues to play. Trying with all his strength to not think about the ball of heat growing in the pit of his stomach.  
1,2,3,4  
The walls are getting closer to him, the walls are fucking closing in. How the fuck did this room get so small? Andrew can't breathe, all he does is keep playing, his cheeks are numb but he still wants to feel the pain.  
1,2,3,4  
His pants are growing tight. Fletcher can see. He slaps him again. Andrew gasps. His cock pressing against his jeans as he still steadily plays. He waits for the numbers to be called out again. He waits for the slap he completely deserves. He wants Terrence to fucking hurt him, the thought of him being violent, slapping him, gripping him... his mind is too afraid to wander down deeper, he's only thought about it once or twice, of the older man tying him up and fucking him into the floor, the thought of having bruises on his body for weeks. He's wanted it since he got accepted into his band, he's been obsessed with that man since he first heard about him from professors and peers when he first stepped into Shaffer. Fletcher's voice brings him out from the spiraling thoughts.  
"Practice is done. Except for you, Nieman. You're staying."  
The players who had turned into stressed spectators in the last five minutes breathed a sigh of relief as they were let go, eager to leave and escape their conductors wrath if the man decided to haphazardly prey on them. Soon the room was empty, leaving the two alone.  
Fletcher flex-ed his arms as he watched the last player leave and turned back around to face the younger man. Andrew tried to swallow, his throat was tight and hot. His cock was still stiff against his jeans unwavering as he stared at the man in front of him, indulging in everything but his eyes. He let out a shakey breath. He had no idea what Fletcher planned to do.


	2. Fucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fucking and spanking

"Well?"  
Andrew swallowed again, finally meeting eye contact with the conductor for a brief second before returning his gaze to the floor.  
"Keep fucking playing, Nieman"  
The younger man began to start up Whiplash once again, thinking, determined, to get it right this time. His dreams were cut short by the brisk halt motion from Fletcher.  
Andrew starts up again.  
Another cut.  
Another cut.  
With each dreaded and end of the world feeling motion Fletcher gives, Andrew can clearly see he has not wavered in his irritation since practice had started.  
Andrew kept at it, like hell he would give up. After the fifth time of starting over, the older man finally broke again. He took the two steps to get closer to Nieman, fury weakly contained,  
"WHY CAN'T YOU GET ON MY FUCKING TEMPO, IDIOT. WHY THE FUCK DID I EVEN LET YOU IN HERE. YOURE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE, ARENT YOU? YOU WANT TO BE FUCKING SLAPPED MORE?"  
Hearing the word slap again, reminded Andrew that yes, that the heat in the pit of his stomach was as hot and his dick growing with blood flow as hard as ever. He replied to the rhetorical question by blinking at his drumset, noticing drops of blood on the top head. 

Terrence was not a daft man, he was very aware of his surroundings. He could tell when a cock was hard, and boy was fucking Nieman sporting one hell of a stiffer. The older man flashed a lopsided grin with the narrowed brows of someone with bad intentions. He gave a go ahead motion with his hand, and like a trained dog, Andrew started up once more.  
He loved that about teaching. Obedience.  
The boy was playing badly. There were some...explanations to his piss poor playing at the moment, mainly the fact he's been slapped more times today than he could count and it's a good bet to put money on that it's fucking hard to focus on tempo when the blood is rushing to your lower torso.

Without warning, Andrew felt the hand make contact, the dull pain go through the motion. But this time, the hand did not stray from his face. Andrew's brow pleaded with confusion as he kept playing, he choked back a gasp as the hand moved and two of Fletcher's fingers found their way inside the younger man's slightly agape mouth. He kept them there, slightly pulling and moving inside. Fletcher was silent as he did so, seemingly not hearing the tempo Andrew attempting to withstand began to slow ever so slightly.  
The conductors fingers were rough and slightly calloused, with thick skin and slight ridges from the decades of use. Andrew wanted to test the waters. How far could he go? How far was Fletcher willing to play with him? Would he just abruptly leave, disgustingly prideful to leave the 20 year old alone in the room with his cock red and precome staining his underwear like an all too eager teenager on prom night?  
The younger man slid his tounge across one of Fletchers knuckles. He closed his eyes, the beat he tried to keep having a miserable slow death. Andrew closed his mouth ever so gently around the fingers and sucked, once, twice, before opening his eyes to gauge his conductors reaction. Fletcher looked as emotional as a brick wall. He removed his fingers slowly, rubbing them across Andrew's face as he retracted them. The air cooling his face from the saliva smeared.  
"Get the fuck up from that chair."  
The drumsticks fell to ground, the only noise in the room as Andrew stood up with weak legs, his body too heavy with arrousal. He could feel the sweat sticking to his shirt. He knew his face was red as ever.  
"Take your pants off."  
Slowly, as not to scare away an animal, Andrew dropped his pants and stepped out, his dick clearly straining against the black briefs.  
Fletcher immidiately strode into the mans' personal space, reached inside the briefs and grabbed Andrew's girthy cock in his dominant hand.  
"This is what you fucking want?"  
Andrew gasped. He threw back his head, the grasp was like electrocution.  
"Get down on the ground, Nieman"  
Andrew immediately obeys as he crouches down and gets into position, ass in the air and face pressed into the cold hard tiles. He lets out a soft groan at the true realization that this was finally happening, he's imagined Fletcher putting his almost certainly large cock inside Andrew, he wants the pain, he wants a reminder he's still alive that he's -  
Fletcher is on his knees behind him when he grabs the black briefs on Andrew and yanks them forcibly down, exposing his soft, pale ass to the older man.  
"God damn Andrew, your ass is a fucking woman's"  
Andrew hears the man spit into his hand before he feels the first calloused finger that was previously in his mouth enter inside him.  
The younger man stifles what might have been an embarrassingly loud groan as the finger began to pump and a second one was soon added. Then it was a third. Andrew's legs began to shake uncontrollably, his cock burning and twitching with every movement that those aged fingers preformed inside him. After a minute, Fletcher pulled out. The sound of a belt unbuckling and a zipper being pulled. He doesn't take his pants entirely off. More sounds of him spitting into his hand, Andrews face heating up stronger at the anticipation and adjusts to get ready. Fletcher sees the movement. A hard slap erupts onto Andrew ass, leaving a bright red mark. Andrew slips a small moan, it felt so fucking good to him.  
"Shut up this isn't a porno, Nieman"  
With that he lines himself to Andrew's tight hole and enters, slowly at first. Andrew throws back his head, breathing hard. The sensation of the thick cock putting stars in his eyes. The spit makes it easier, not as easy with lube but, still manageable. Fletcher begins to pump in time with an out of earshot metronome. Andrew begins to push and pull back, as the older man moves his hands from Andrew's hips to lower, near the base of the younger man's dick now with precome dribbling onto the floor. There's slight friction in spots while they pump, rubbing raw. They both knew blood was going to begin to leak but neither man cared. The motion speeds up, Fletcher giving a small grunt as he adjusts, near ready to cum.  
"Finally...something....you're-"  
Fletcher gives a particular hard thrust. The tightness of Andrew's ass clenching around the conductors cock.  
"-on tempo with" He hits Andrew's prostate sending euphoric volts through the younger man's body, fuck it feels so good so fucking good. He doesn't realize he was saying that aloud until the hand that was dancing around Andrew's base abruptly grabs his dick tightly. Andrew jerks hard, instantly cumming into his conductors hand, himself, and the floor. Ecstasy running it's course throughout his body. Fletcher adjusts inside him once again and a rough roll of his hips against the soft ass later, Andrew feels full with the feeling of Terrence's cum inside him, mixing with the blood from the raw wounds inside. The older man pulls out, the mixture leaking out after.  
"Thank god we have tiles and not carpet"  
Andrew is too gone too reply, his brain near dead from the over stimulation that he hasn't received in a long time from anyone.  
"Don't tell me your one of those post coital lovers"  
He gets up and walks to his office, Andrew still lying on the ground, not hearing what the other man was saying as he returns. Probably a bunch of insults with cussing thrown in. He feels a paper towel, the cheap ones schools get, rub against his ass, touching inside. This time the pain actually makes Andrew twitch. He knew it was going to sting for a while. The dull ache washing over him very slowly as well. The paper towel was lifted from his lower region. Before Andrew could realize what was happening, the warm, built body of his conductor embraced him from behind, if only for a brief second, the feeling of teeth gently nipping on the back of Andrew's neck before retreating, like it never happened. What sounded like distant murmuring, the drummer briefly heard "you better get up and get yourself out, Nieman, I will not fucking carry you" The door opens and the clicks of Fletcher's shoes continue on.  
Andrew rolls over onto his back and cracks the first smile in two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna do a prologue


End file.
